Pennies (Dollar #1)

by Pepper Winters

  “Sir, the contract is drafted.”

  My head snapped up from my laptop. I glowered at Selix. He was one of the very few to know me before wealth found me—well, before I stole wealth and made it mine.

  I ran a hand up my bare arm, tracing the Japanese words inked around my wrist. The proverb taunted me, reminding me of the promise I’d made to my mother when I’d been a better man. “Good. Arrange the final meeting so we can get the fuck out of this port.”

  “Very well.” He retreated from my office, carrying the thick manila folder full of schematics and fine print. I didn’t relax until the soft hish of the closed door met my ears.

  The moment I was alone, I planted my elbows on my desk and scrubbed my face.

  I was too fucking busy for this nonsense.

  She’s just a girl.

  Shit, don’t call her that.

  She’s a slave.

  Over the past two days, my mind had slowly transformed her from possession to human.

  I didn’t want that.

  I wanted her to remain faceless…worthless, so I could forget about her and move on. I had too many assholes asking for my services to be side-tracked.

  Besides, if I needed a woman, I could have two or ten delivered within the hour. I didn’t need her. Not that I often gave in to bodily cravings. Bad things happened when I gave in to my desires.

  Look at my current kingdom.

  Somehow, I’d turned petty crime into full-blown racketeering. I’d evolved pick-pocketing into an illegal dynasty, and no law or rule could stop me. I operated on international waters. I was free from country propaganda and constitutions. In effect, I was a pirate with his own agenda.

  Thinking of the open ocean, my eyes drifted toward the horizon. A physical craving clutched me to shed the anchor and go. To sail far away from this filthy fucking town.

  Soon.

  One more day.

  Then I could leave this godforsaken place and travel to my next business appointment on the other side of the globe.

  Alrik was true to his word. His funds had cleared, and my bank account was millions of dollars wealthier.

  Not that measly money meant anything these days. I could survive with nothing—I’d proven that—even if what I’d done to survive didn’t fit the approval of many.

  Before I had money…life was easy. I knew who I was. I knew what I was. But then, fate decided to give me gold instead of dirt, raising me from nobody to somebody.

  I was meant to smite those below me, to manipulate and control. So why the fuck did I feel like I’d just crushed a gutter rat beneath my shoe when I’d been nothing but courteous and kind?

  Damn that woman.

  Standing, I shoved aside my chair and stalked to the floor-to-ceiling windows revealing a sparkling harbour with catamarans, speed boats, and brightly painted dinghies. We’d pulled into port almost a week ago, and it was time to leave. I didn’t do well locked in one place.

  “Fuck.” The curse fell quietly as a woman with dark brown curls laughed on the jetty in the distance. She looked nothing like the skinny slave I’d met, but her hair colour churned things inside I no longer recognised.

  I’d earned what I wanted from the meeting with Alrik.

  I should be happy.

  But I couldn’t rid myself of this disgusting aftertaste as if I’d done something I wasn’t proud of.

  My hands curled into fists. Hadn’t I given her the very fucking jacket off my back? Hadn’t I spoken cordially and ensured she ate?

  Yes!

  So why can’t I forget her?

  She should've been grateful for my attention. I treated her a hell of a lot better than her master ever did.

  What happened to her in the two days since I’d been there? Had she been molested again? Beat again?

  Not that it mattered.

  I’d seen people have their teeth kicked in and bones broken on the street. I’d seen men with fingers cut off while standing in a five-star restaurant where mob bosses had no fear of retaliation.

  I lived in violence.

  I was violence.

  So the thought of a girl getting smacked around—it shouldn’t fucking bother me.

  But it does…

  Someone knocked on my office door.

  Wrenching my head up, I growled, “Enter.”

  One of the servants tiptoed in, carrying a tray with unknown lunch beneath a silver dome. She didn’t say a word but walked with confidence, placing the food on my desk with a polite smile before retreating.

  She moved with freedom and happiness.

  Pimlico moved with servitude and depression.

  I want her.

  My body stiffened with the obsessive need to abduct Alrik’s slave. Swiping fingers through my hair, I tried to tame the thick black strands, forcing such ideas to flee.

  Pimlico had a lot to share—an entire story to tell. She’d been intrigued by me, too. I’d felt it. Her interest hadn’t been because she wanted my wealth but something deeper. Something, I couldn’t figure out. Something, I would never know because she wasn’t mine and I had laws in place that I had to follow.

  I’d seen her once. Touched her once.

  Once would have to be enough.

  Because a man like me could never have a second chance.

  It was my most unbreakable law.

  Tomorrow, I would go back and complete our bargain.

  I should be excited about another contract well struck.

  However, I couldn’t give a flying fuck about that.

  What I did give a fuck about was the slave and her silent secrets begging me to reach out and steal.

  Do I have the willpower to do this?

  Pacing in my office, I scowled at the expensive décor with its library shelves and handmade furniture. I’d lived with my unusual appetites all my life. I wouldn’t let one broken girl destroy my strict guidelines.

  I would see her again.

  I wouldn’t talk to her.

  I wouldn’t look at her.

  And I definitely wouldn’t demand to fucking share her.

  TWO DAYS PASSED.

  After the beating, when Mr. Prest left, Master A used me mercilessly. By day, he made me wish I’d been braver and killed myself the moment he’d bought me. By night, he made me curl like a dog on the end of his bed where he could kick me in his dreams then take me when he woke.

  By morning, I was sleep deprived and trembling from residual agony.

  He didn’t call the doctor to set my hand, and after making him breakfast, I ransacked the medical cupboard in the downstairs bathroom, doing my best to patch myself up. I found a bandage and painkillers—not nearly good enough to fix what he’d done—but it was better than nothing.

  Why did I bother?

  I had no idea.

  He would merely hurt me again and again. It was pointless to give my body a hundredth attempt to survive when my soul had already packed its bags and leapt overboard.

  However, as I strapped my broken fingers and smeared arnica over my arms and legs from his kicks, my mind wandered to Mr. Prest.

  He’d caused my pain.

  He was the reason Master A turned so vile.

  I had no intention of ever forgetting it.

  I wanted nothing to do with his blazer, his scent of incense and spice, or any thoughts of his black eyes and fierce features.

  He was nothing to me. Just like I was nothing to my master.

  The only saving grace was I hadn’t seen Darryl, Monty, or Tony since the night they were thrown out. I didn’t think it was because Master A needed a rest from his so-called friends, but because he was jealous over the attention bestowed upon me.

  “Oh, Pimlicooo? Come out, come out, wherever you are.”

  I shuddered as my nemesis appeared in the kitchen.

  “Ah, there you are.”

  Yes, here I am. Doing your laundry and dishes and every task you require.

  Coming up behind me, he wrapped awful arms around my pai
nful body. “I missed you.”

  Go to hell.

  Pressing a bruise on my collarbone, he murmured, “Have you been a good girl while I’ve been in my study?”

  An hour or so ago, he’d retreated to his office, firing off emails and doing who knew what. I’d enjoyed a few moments away from his foul eyes and critical curses. While he was occupied, I’d done my best to find the sleeping tablets he sometimes used. I couldn’t handle another beating so soon, and planned to crush a few into his food so I could have the night off.

  However, the bottle had been empty.

  My plotting to avoid more agony foiled.

  If I had to hit him over the head with the frying pan…I would.

  I would hit and hit and hit until his skull cracked like a rotten egg and I could finally stride from the front door as a free woman.

  Free…

  My chin raised as I glowered into the distance. My bare toes dug into the cold tiles as my naked body crawled beneath his touch. Ever since Mr. Prest’s departure, I’d been naked—all clothes had vanished once again.

  One moment, Master A squeezed me, the next, he threw me toward the sink, walloping my cheek with his fist. “I asked if you were a good girl, Pim. Answer me.”

  I glanced through glassy tears, holding my smarting cheek.

  You’ll never learn.

  No matter what you do…I’ll never answer you.

  His hands fisted as we entered yet another staring contest that normally ended with me bowing at his feet for mercy.

  All day, he’d been in a diabolical mood. It began with him waking me by forcing my face into his crotch, making me gag on his morning wood.

  Breakfast was endured standing on the table like a naked figurine so he could throw utensils at me while eating his cereal.

  Lunchtime had earned my body pushed into the white leather of his couch and held down while he whipped me from behind.

  And now, it was night.

  The worst time.

  For years, I’d retained some dignity. I’d kept my silence. I cursed him with glares and swore with a sharply tilted jaw. And no matter what he did, I never ever let him break me. But in doing so, I became so tangled with thoughts of murder and escape that I could fill an entire encyclopaedia.

  I was ready to kill him or be killed.

  I couldn’t live like this any longer.

  I wanted out.

  Now!

  Shaking out the fist he’d just shoved in my face, he snarled, “Get upstairs, Pim. It’s past your bedtime, and I have just the thing to help you fall asleep.”

  * * * * *

  Three days since Mr. Prest disappeared.

  Lunchtime.

  I’d been fed this afternoon, which was the first in twenty-seven hours. Not that I’d been counting or anything. It consisted of lasagne leftovers served in my dog bowl.

  It was one of my small victories. I’d won last night.

  I’d pre-empted his plans to take me, and with a few well-placed stares, I switched his mood from volatile to sane. He still hurt me but not as much as he’d prepared. And today, he’d agreed I was a good girl.

  Idiot.

  However, now that I’d done the dishes and knelt at the foot of the couch while he watched some god-awful action movie, he snapped his fingers for me to crawl to him.

  My stomach flip-flopped as nausea rushed up my throat.

  I knew what he wanted—the same thing he always did when he watched a movie before dinner.

  A blowjob.

  The first couple he’d forced me to give, I’d tempted death by biting. Not hard but enough to voice my displeasure in the loudest actionable way possible.

  He’d hit me around the head so fiercely, I’d blacked out, only to come to as he used me without my permission.

  I licked my lips, running my tongue over cracked flesh and sore gums. To me, I did my best to prepare my body for such an unsavoury task. To him, it came across as sultry and wanting to suck.

  Master A groaned as he arched his hips off the couch, undoing his zipper, and pulling out his cock. “You’ve become so talented at this, my sweet Pim.” Grabbing the remote control beside him, he turned off the sounds of explosions and gunfire, replacing the movie with soft strands of violin and piano.

  Instantly, I shivered with repulsion.

  Classical music.

  Intrinsically entwined with my abuse. I didn’t know if Master A was smart enough to shackle my mind with music while making my body do heinous things. But my mother would’ve been intrigued by his methods. She would’ve had a field day figuring out why I wanted to burst into the tears the moment a quavering note from the softest instrument echoed around me.

  Reclining, Master A snatched my nape, guiding my face to his lap. “I’m so glad you’re behaving again. Seems our little talk did you a world of good.”

  I despise you to the bowels of the cosmos.

  My soul recoiled. I fought the tug as much as I dared.

  But ultimately, I let him guide me to where he wanted, keeping my eyes squeezed as his cock nudged against my lower lip.

  Bing bong.

  We both froze.

  The doorbell hovered in the space with demand.

  Master A breathed hard, his chest working with anticipation of my mouth. “Who the fuck is that?”

  How the hell would I know?

  Rearing back, I thanked whoever it was. They couldn’t stop this from happening, but at least they’d given me a small reprieve—enough to swallow back my lunch and mentally shut out the classical music, so I might be able to do my task while blank and numb.

  Shoving me away, he didn’t care I sprawled on my hands and knees as he clambered off the couch, quickly tucking himself into his jeans and wrenching up his fly. “If that’s fucking Darryl, I told him tomorrow.”

  I hope all your friends rot.

  Master A looked over his shoulder, pointing at the wall. “Kneel. Behave.”

  The doorbell rang again as he vanished from the lounge.

  Fuck you.

  I stuck out my tongue. It was juvenile and ridiculous, but it made my heart lighter in a teeny-tiny way.

  With the small second alone, I glanced at the windows to my left. The sun had dipped below the sea, extinguishing itself in a bonfire of pinks and oranges. The view from the white monstrosity never held beauty, no matter if the sun set or rose. It was merely a vista of my prison.

  I hated it.

  I hated many things these days.

  Tearing my eyes away from falling dusk, I crawled toward the spot he’d told me to wait.

  Cradling my bandaged hand, I glanced up as Master A stalked back into the lounge. His face had lost its lust from before, replaced with stark annoyance. He threw something soft and white at my naked body.

  “I fucking forgot he was coming today.”

  My heart bucked like a bronco until I promised I’d wrap it in a noose to perform the gallows’ jig if it didn’t stop.

  Who?

  Who’s coming?

  Ducking, he shoved a finger in my face. “Get dressed. Now. Keep your eyes down, obedience high, and if I fucking catch you looking at him, the past few nights will be considered preschool before heading to boot camp.” Tipping my chin with his biting finger, he kissed me hard and sloppy. “Got it? You’re mine. Not his. Mine. Now, cover yourself and don’t dare move.”

  Not waiting for me to obey, he stormed toward the foyer, leaving me to stroke the white sweater dress he’d given me.

  Clothes.

  The last time he’d given me clothes…

  Oh, my God, he’s come back.

  Elder bloody Prest.

  The man who’d provoked my master. The man whose fun almost cost me my life. The last few days, he’d probably counted his millions and forgotten all about me while I suffered broken bones and agony.

  Now, he was back for more.

  My skin broke out in fire and frost, battling for supremacy. I didn’t know why Master A wanted me covered fo
r this guest when he allowed others to stare, but I didn’t hesitate in slipping my hands into the long sleeves and pulling the stretchy material over my head.

  My shoulder blades screamed. My elbows popped. Every inch of me bellowed as I stood on my knees and shimmied into the dress. It came to my calves—not enough to hide the bruises on my lower legs, but enough to cover everything else.

  He’s here.

  I couldn’t soothe my heart, no matter how soft I petted or whispered for it to calm down. It no longer listened to me after I’d threatened to hang it.

  Mr. Prest was just a man. A man I didn’t like. A man who brought more pain into my world simply by visiting.

  But still just a man.

  I’d survived living with one for this long…I could survive another.

  Heavy footfalls sounded in the foyer as I sank back onto my knees and ran my good hand through my hair, deliberately shielding my face from seeing too much. He’d returned, but it didn’t mean I would look. If Master A wanted me to be invisible, listen to their business conversation, but not pay any attention to Mr. Prest, I would do every instruction.

  I guess the command to obey Mr. Prest is revoked.

  Resting my sore hand on my lap, I sighed into the clingy material of the given gown. Once again, claustrophobia clawed, whispering of panic attacks and weakness.

  I clenched my teeth.

  You’re stronger than that. You’re better than all of them.

  Breathing hard through my nose, I dared believe my lies and forced my blood to calm.

  The hard flooring chilled my knees as low murmurs came closer. My ears pricked as the gentle click of men’s dress shoes filled the stark space. My chin begged to rise, to give me a postcard-perfect view of Mr. Prest as his scent and presence surrounded me.

  I forbid it.

  Instead, I locked my gaze on the grout line between tiles, following the softer grey from the lounge rug to the dining room table.

  “I trust you received payment okay?” Master A asked.

  Mr. Prest’s legs came into my vision.

  I dropped my head further.

  He’s not here.

  He’s not real.

  Don’t look or listen or linger.

  My heart chugged with steam and coal, but I won the war. My eyes remained steadfast on the floor.